


True Nature

by RedWritingHood



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Cake, Character Study, Gen, No Dialogue, No Romance, That is not code for something else, The Cake Is Not A Lie, There is cake in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWritingHood/pseuds/RedWritingHood
Summary: He cannot remember how long he has been smiling. The curve of his lips suddenly feels almost unbearable.





	True Nature

How long has Bruce been back? It can't have been that long. Not even a year. He has been to numerous society functions such as this one, despite his deep reluctance and the strangling quality that bow ties quickly take on, pressing into his neck, choking him. Of course, he has actually been strangled before, and this is nothing like that ( _it's a little like that_ ).

The lights are in his eyes. The room is loud around him.

For a moment, he is disoriented. He cannot remember how long he has been smiling. The curve of his lips suddenly feels almost unbearable. He wonders how stiff it looks on his face, or if it's easy, careless, smooth as the champagne in the glass he's holding.

He is a fake person in a glittering room full of fake, glittering people.

Nothing seems real, and for a second he falters. But even that is kept hidden, and he soon steadies.

_Breathe, Bruce. You've done this before. You can do it again._

He exhales and sets his glass aside. He hasn't even sipped it, but he wonders if he's drunk.

His eye catches on someone in the mess of bodies.

He hasn't seen her before. She's obviously new, her first time to a gala and she's looking around with bright, eager eyes, her smile too big and awed to be an affectation. She does not see the masks people have painted on, the fawning, the laughter that's too loud and goes on too long, the touches, light on an arm or heavy on a shoulder, that bear the weight of an agenda, and the smiles. The smiles that stretch like a rictus of joy, like a bramble of thorns that tries to disguise itself as a rose until you spot the sharp edges.

She doesn't.

To her, the night is great and delightful, with a golden shine that hides the falsity of fool's gold. She is young, an innocent untouched by cynicism or malice, and she moves through the crowd like an awkward thing, all at once curious and shy. She turns her shoulder, walking to the safety of the buffet table near which he stands, her gait an embarrassed sort of tread. He watches her, and she notices, her gaze flitting up to his, her cheeks pink and her smile bashful.

Unconciously, he mimics her, tilting his head, body language softening, shoulders curving inward. It is as if a space has been created, just for them, and they look at each other, his eyes dark, hers bright.

Her smile blooms into something larger, beautiful and truthful. She peers up at him, seeming delighted by his silent yet unconditional company. She slides closer, glancing at a small cake at his right side.

He glances there too, and then they look at each other again. She points at it questioningly and he picks it up gently, holding it out to her. She takes it and he finds a fork for her to use.

She cuts into a piece with the fork and shoves it into her mouth, not at all dainty or practiced, as most women he knows would have been. She makes a pleased sound, rolling her eyes upwards as if thanking some higher power for rewarding her this bliss, and suddenly he is grinning. It is real and wonderful, crinkling his eyes and showing his teeth, creasing the corners of his mouth.

He finds that it is much easier to breathe now.

She looks at him with wide eyes and points at her cake with her fork, making a noise that sounds like a question. He is about to decline when something makes him pause.

He looks at the girl and her cake. It is an offer without conditions, without any strings, without pretense, and...

Why not.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, Bruce. You can have your cake and eat it, too.


End file.
